She swiped open my door. Before I could react, her bodyguard ripped the thin nightgown off my body. Her manicured nails raked across my face, leaving trails of burning, bloody scratches.
My husband appeared. He didn't help me. He wrapped both arms around that woman and held her tight, making me look like the real intruder—someone who deserved every blow, every insult.
Doors along the hallway swung open one by one. Strangers crowded into their doorframes, pointing, whispering, sneering.
"She deserves it. Homewreckers always get what's coming!"
"Stealing someone's husband wasn't enough—she got knocked up too! Probably trying to use the bastard to climb the ladder!"
Things flew at me. Eggs. Garbage. A half-empty water bottle someone had been drinking from. The sticky liquid dripped down my hair, and I threw my arms over my face, but someone's phone camera was already aimed right at me.
"Look at this, everyone! This is what happens to homewreckers! Let the whole world see this little tramp's face!"
I was being livestreamed.
My half-naked body. The bloody scratches on my face. The desperate way I curled around my belly. Thousands of people watched, cursed, and spat venom.